The Family Legend
by madwriter223
Summary: Mr. Wrench honestly wasn't sure if it was true or not. It seemed just too far-fetched to be believed, but on the other hand, he'd seen some fairly weird shit in his life. So maybe, just maybe, there still was a chance. Blood Magic, Fix-It, Wrenchers Fluff


**The Family Legend**

Mr. Wrench honestly wasn't sure if it was true or not. It seemed just too far-fetched to be believed, but on the other hand, he'd seen some fairly weird shit in his life. Nothing that could compare to this, but still, he hadn't thought those could be possible either.

The story takes place at least twenty generations ago. Apparently, one of Wrench's ancestors had lost their beloved and had promptly made a deal with a demon or a fairy or maybe even something entirely different. The deal was that the ancestor would gain the ability to bring their beloved back to life. The price? The ability to hear.

According to this family legend, every deaf person in his bloodline possesses the same ability. And just like apprentice witches, each one is taught the ritual and trained until they can say the two 'magic' words perfectly.

Wrench had been no different. Just as all member of his bloodline before and after him, he knew the story, knew the ritual and knew how to say the required words. And as he stared at the clipboard (_Partner? Dead_), he was very glad he did.

.*~*.

That weirdo giving Wrench the key had been a stroke of luck. Him killing the guard as well was damn helpful, too. And oddly courteous, come to think of it. Wrench took a single moment to feel grateful, then concentrated on sneaking down to the stairs. Being deaf was never more of a detriment than in situations like these. He couldn't exactly hear where everyone was, be they around the corner or behind closed doors. But Wrench was a professional, and he knew how to be extra stealthy.

He quickly and easily located the stairwell and headed straight down. Experience had taught him that morgues were usually located in or near basement levels. This hospital was no different, and Wrench had no trouble at all in finding its morgue. And that's where he found his partner.

Mr. Numbers was lying flat on a metal table. His naked skin was grey in death and cold like ice to the touch. They'd cut his beard to uncover the deep slash across his throat. Wrench pursed his lips and ran a single fingers against the uneven hairs on the chin. Numbers had spent the last couple years growing his beard out. He would not be happy to see the state it was in.

Before he could perform the ritual though, he had to prepare everything first.

Wrench stepped back from the metal table and went to find the morgue personnel. He found both pathologist and assistant in a small office not far from the refrigerators. Subduing them was a matter of moments, and Wrench left them unconscious and tied up securely on the floor. He smashed their cell phones and cut the cable to the office phone as well, to make sure they wouldn't be able to call for help even if they got free. Next, he locked both the office door and the main entrance to the morgue area. He even slid out the bolts at the bottom and the top of the door, just to make absolutely sure.

He didn't want to be interrupted.

He ransacked the locker room and quickly found clothes that would fit them both. Both their pants had to come from scrubs, but Wrench found a nice thick sweater that should fit Numbers well enough. No jackets, though, but those would be easy enough to acquire, especially as he'd found the pathologist's wallet. No credit cards, but plenty of cash.

Wrench brought everything back to the refrigerator room and set the clothes and money aside for later. He located a pair of scissors and walked up to the metal table and his partner's body. He carefully placed a piece of cloth on the wound across the neck, making sure it was completely covered. Then he went to work on evening out what was left of Numbers's beard. His partner would bitch about the length either way, but at least now he'd look much less as if he lost a fight with a lawnmower.

When he finished, he blew on Numbers's chin and neck to get rid of the cut hairs, then slowly removed the cloth. He checked the wound to make sure no hairs had gotten inside, but thankfully it was still as clean as the pathologist had left it. Good. Nothing else left to do, but the ritual.

Truth be told, Wrench was feeling mighty nervous about it, though. Oh sure, he'd been taught what to do, he'd been raised on the family legend and tales of his relatives performing the ritual successfully. But what if all of that was just a giant load of bullcrap? A nasty joke they've been playing on each other for twenty some generations?

Wrench stared at his partner's slack face and swallowed down his nerves and fears. He'd cross that bridge if he'd have to. For now, he knew what to do.

Wrench selected a scalpel from a nearby tray and made a shallow cut across his left thumb. He pushed at the pad to get the blood to well up, then used it to paint the necessary lines on Numbers's face. First he traced the line of his partner's eyebrows, drawing a long line across his forehead. He made two short lines under each eye and pressed his thumb gently against the middle of each eyelid, leaving red dots behind. He ran the thumb over his partner's bottom lip, then pulled the chin downwards so the mouth would open. It took a bit of strength, rigor mortis was not helpful at this moment. Once the mouth was open, Wrench pushed on the sides of his thumb and dripped a few drops of his blood onto Numbers's tongue and the back of his throat. He closed his partner's mouth and took a deep breath. One last thing to do.

Wrench reached for the scalpel again and cut his left palm open. Shallowly, just like the thumb, but deep enough for the blood to come easily. He flexed his hand a few times to coat his palm in his blood, then wrapped his fingers carefully around Numbers's neck. His rubbed his hand back and forth for a moment, to make sure the entire wound was coated in his blood, then he tightened his hold, almost to the point of choking (if Numbers had been alive, that is).

Wrench took another deep breath, holding it for a tense moment before he released it in a long, calming exhale. He swallowed thickly and leaned over his partner. He closed his eyes and let out another long exhale, concentrating on how the wound felt against his cut palm.

Wrench licked his lips and spoke. "_**Heal.**_" He felt the vibrations in his throat as the word left him, and almost immediately he felt an answering stinging underneath his palm. He didn't move though, keeping his hand firmly on his partner's throat, until the somewhat unpleasant sensation dissipated.

Slowly, fearing what he would see, Wrench relaxed his fingers and lifted his hand away. He let out a shuddery gasp when he saw the neck, his knees nearly bending from the relief.

Numbers's throat was _whole_.

Wrench quickly grabbed the piece of cloth again and rubbed the blood away, revealing only more ashen skin. There was no wound, not even a scab. Just a thin silvery scar running across the pale neck.

It was true. The whole far-fetched, ridiculous legend was _true_.

Wrench's breathing sped up in hope as he moved onto the second step. He slid one arm under Numbers's shoulders and hefted him up slightly. Rigor mortis made that difficult again, but Wrench was too elated to care. He moved his partner into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around the cold torso to hold it steady. He placed the head so that Numbers's left ear was pressed against Wrench's chest, right over his heart. He hugged his partner tightly, took a deep breath and spoke the second word. "_**Wake.**_"

For a moment, just long enough to Wrench to start to worry, nothing happened. But then Numbers's body relaxed and lost its rigid stiffness, and Wrench felt his partner's ribs move and jerk as he gasped for breath. He laughed breathlessly as he hugged his partner tightly, holding him upright until Numbers caught his breath.

This was well worth the ability to hear.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Numbers got the hang of breathing again. He tapped Wrench's shoulder and signed. _What happened?_

Wrench released him and drew back slightly. _Long story. _He answered, then grinned and hugged Numbers tightly again. He pressed their foreheads together and only grinned wider when he felt his partner's shaky breath on his face.

Completely worth it.

.*~*.

Numbers slept for nearly a week after they'd left the hospital. But within two weeks he was feeling much better and just like his old self. Mostly. Wrench took him ice-fishing to celebrate, then they fucked like rabbits in their shared apartment.

And yes. Numbers bitched about his beard. Wrench was so happy that he didn't even complain about it. Well, much. It got old after a while.


End file.
